Tummy
by The Rose Society
Summary: Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid spend some time together on a train. A series of events, including an improperly buttoned shirt, cause Morgan to reflect on trust, strength, and yearning. Hints at Morgan/Reid, though nothing explicitly stated.


**Tummy**

**Author**: The Rose Society

**Rating**: M - for mentions of Morgan's history of abuse

**Disclaimer**: Criminal Minds is owned by Eye Net Works, Inc. by way of CBS Broadcasting System (together, CBS).

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The train was quickly becoming more crowded. With an apologetic half-smile at Morgan, Reid leaned his back against the side of the train car, stance wide to help him balance. Since they couldn't really discuss the case or converse in the din of the train, he pulled out some light reading from his messenger bag.

Morgan chuckled to himself when the boy genius pulled out _A Tale of Two Cities_ and began to read at an alarming speed. The rapidity of the flipping of the pages caused some nearby passengers to stare in disbelief but Morgan knew Reid was actually reading. With a start, he moved into Reid's personal space to let more passengers pass by on the crowded train. His eyes twinkled as he gave Reid a small grin when the smaller, slender man paused from his reading and looked up. 'Sorry,' Morgan mouthed.

Reid returned Morgan's grin with an understanding smile and bent his head once more to his book.

A few more minutes passed until the next stop. Still more passengers pressed into the crowded train. Mindful of others, Morgan stood as best as he could, no handles available for him to hold to keep his balance. He didn't mind letting others use what was available, even thought it meant he himself had to balance on his own.

Reid was lost in his novel but he could feel the press of human heat come closer and closer. Luckily, the hard-working AC kept things from becoming unbearable.

Suddenly, the train jolted, rattling the passengers inside it. Large hands smacked the surface on either side of Reid's body as Morgan was tossed against him, even as Reid pressed himself further against the train for balance and looked up from his book in mild alarm.

"Dear patrons, due to retrofitting, it will be quite bumpy for the next 3 stops. For your safety, please hold on," came the overhead announcement.

Eyes met and Morgan flashed his brilliant smile and chuckled again. "Better late than never?" he quipped, his deep, velvet voice rumbling in Reid's ear because of the proximity.

Tingles of awareness of an "other" in his personal space raced up Reid's spine. He flashed Morgan a somewhat nervous, acknowledging smile. He could feel Morgan's hand patting his shoulder reassuringly as Morgan straightened up, widening his stance as best as he could amongst the crush of people to better his balance. Morgan slid his eyes towards the book, smiling again to let Reid know it was fine to continue to read instead of converse.

Warm, amused eyes watched as Reid's gaze lowered back to his book. Curly, unruly brown hair fell haphazardly against Reid's cheek but the genius was already immersed in his reading, long, slender fingers trailing quickly down the pages before flipping to the next at dizzying speed. Not having brought his own reading material, Morgan had little to do besides try to keep his balance as best as he could as the train jostled them along. He had long ago exhausted the ads in the train and the graffiti was like so much visual noise. He wasn't interested in profiling the various commuters on the train. Business women and men, cheaters, the group of high school students obviously cutting class, the two drug addicts at the far end of the train car, none of them held any interest for him. So he let his eyes wander.

Eventually, they settled upon the crinkles and folds of Reid's dark blue shirt. Something caught his eye, a brightness in the darker field of color. A slight furrowing of his brow as his eyes sought to figure out what had caught his attention. The up and down bouncing of the train was making his search that much harder as each motion caused the folds of Reid's shirt along his flat stomach to change and mutate endlessly. The corners of his mouth tightened a bit; had he imagined it?

Another swift change of the scenery outside caused shadows and sunlight to filter through the windows just right, along with the perfect jostle of the train, and Morgan saw it. Reid had mis-buttoned his shirt and hadn't even noticed it. Then again, genius though he may be, Reid wasn't the most attentive to his appearance most of the time. That wasn't to say he was unkempt. Morgan knew that Reid always had clean, mostly neat clothes, shaved regularly and combed his hair. But the wild riot of curls inevitably escaped any attempt at control and the shirt sleeves ended up wrinkled after being rolled up. Reid was a classic example of an intellectual whose mind was so immersed and bustling with a myriad of thought processes that mundane matters such as wardrobe escaped notice.

A light brush against his abdomen almost escaped his notice. When it occurred again, stronger this time, Reid glanced down at the flat planes of his stomach quizzically, only to find Morgan's long, strong, protective fingers resting lightly upon the fabric of his shirt. He looked up, a bit startled and confused and found himself comforted by Morgan's gentle smile.

"You missed a button there," came the quiet explanation.

Closing his tome slightly, Reid looked down. Indeed, he had missed a button. He began to lower the book to adjust his clothing when Morgan made a small noise and gently waved his hand to stop Reid.

Without further explanation, Morgan gently and slowly untucked Reid's shirt, meeting the young man's startled glance and looking to see if at any time, Reid had any protest at his actions. There was none, just the initial surprise, then complete and utter trust. The man who had known such destruction of trust, so early in his young life, was humbled by that trust, and honored.

When Morgan broke eye contact to slowly unbutton and rebutton his shirt, Reid's eyes searched Morgan's handsome and somewhat guarded expression. Morgan: the former police man, the former football star athlete, a black belt in Judo, and the protective brother, friend, and FBI agent. Here was a man who always put himself in harm's way to save those he cared for but who always worked ultimately alone because he did not trust enough. Reid knew that it wasn't that Morgan didn't trust those he cared about to not betray him or hurt him. It was that Morgan simply didn't think to rely on people.

Morgan had survived on his own, with his wits and skills, through the worst imaginable thing that could happen to a child. He had felt abandoned by God, unable to confide in his family and friends, and turned to the one person he could: himself. Even though they had promised to never profile each other, Reid knew so much about the man in front of him, despite Morgan's guarded nature. Once you got to know the man, could see beyond his friendly, jovial nature, you could see the fragility, the hurt hidden beneath a gentle, compassionate, and incredibly resilient persona. Despite the contradictions, all those facets composed the man named Derek Morgan.

Properly buttoned, Morgan paused, returning to meet gazes with Reid. By this time, Reid's book was closed, loosely held in his hand, forgotten. Morgan had intruded upon Reid's personal space in such a public venue and yet the young man's eyes held no fear, no embarrassment, no trace of rejection. There was just implicit trust, with a touch of excitement over what he was going to do next.

The next jostle of the train pressed the two men even closer in the cramped quarters. Morgan braced himself as best as he could, but he was still thrown lightly against Reid's slender frame, his hand braced on the flat stomach he had just been attending to. Looking around, Morgan could see that no one was paying them any attention. A light touch of cool fingertips on his wrist brought his attention back to Reid and Morgan was met with a quiet smile.

That smile was more powerful than any form of brute force and a crack in Morgan's armor developed. For all his bravado, Morgan was an inherently lonely man. These highly intelligent, hard-working, compassionate, and dedicated people he worked with were his family. But he constantly held them at a distance, frantically protecting himself with his smooth humor and light, flirtatious nature. To appear friendly and open, when in truth, one was hiding, was wearing on the soul. He wanted and did not want to let someone in. He trusted and did not trust people.

And yet, here was Spencer Reid, the team's resident genius. A more trustworthy person Morgan could not think of. The frail-looking man wore his heart on his sleeve and hid nothing. Reid was almost disastrously open and trusting of others. He had put his life on the line to save a young teen boy, putting his body between the guns of the boy and the rest of the team to prevent another young life being taken in front of his eyes. With little noticeable communication, Reid understood what Hotch was doing while kicking the ever-loving daylights out of his body, took the hidden back-up gun, and killed the unsub. For all appearances, there appeared to be no contest. Morgan seemed to be the obviously stronger opponent. However, Morgan believed that it was indeed Reid who had more indefatigable, quiet, inner strength.

The yearning was unbearable. It welled up in Morgan's chest, making it tight and uncomfortable, and if he tried to suppress it any longer, he feared that tears might actually well up in his eyes. However, in Reid's accepting, gentle eyes, he felt finally cleansed, free. His palm flat against Reid's torso, Morgan slowly spread wide his fingers, tracing the contours of the body hidden underneath, feeling the warmth of life shared between them, and the slow rise and fall as Reid breathed evenly and calmly.

The hand upon his stomach burned through his clothes and seared his skin like hot metal, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the train at his back. Animal instincts of protection warned within him that Morgan's hand was too close to vulnerable bits of his anatomy. Major organs lay right underneath the relatively easily destroyed skin and muscle. There was no protection by something as sturdy as the skull or ribcage. But the alarm bells were quieted, quickly and easily. Looking at Morgan's uncertain eyes, Reid knew in his heart and considerable mind that this man would sooner hurt himself than him. Lightly, Reid rested his fingertips on the back of Morgan's hand, reassuring and encouraging.

The feathery caress to his hand soothed the uncertainty and fear immensely. It was strange. Morgan could face unsubs with guns with equanimity but reaching out to place his hand upon this quiet man's stomach and Morgan almost became undone. The love, trust, and reassurance from the slight man was so quietly powerful, Morgan was somewhat surprised he was still on his feet, his knees felt so weak.

Eyes never leaving Reid's, Morgan's hand slowly, carefully, raised Reid's shirt, revealing a tiny strip of bare, pale skin. The eyes meeting his never wavered. Derek breathed out deeply, the air catching one of Spencer's curls and causing it to dance against the man's cheek. Turning his hand, the barest tip of an index finger snuck out beyond the shirt material and Derek tenderly and slowly traced the exposed skin.

The sensation caused Spencer to inhale swiftly, somewhat surprised at the impact of the touch, even though he expected it. His breathing and heart rate began to speed up but again, there was still no trepidation or fear. Even though the train continued to jostle and hurtle them through space and they surrounded by strangers, everything fell away. It was as if they had their own private space in time, somewhere quiet and safe.

Soft yielding skin over the solidness of muscle… Derek wasn't a stranger to touching bodies but this moment was incredibly different, more meaningful. For one, it was Spencer's body that he was touching for the first time in a heretofore almost unimaginable and intimate way. For another, there was incredible intimacy and trust and honesty in this simple touch. Physicality could be incredibly shallow and meaningless, entertaining and pleasurable for a few moments, or exquisitely poignant and emotional. He was a young boy when he witnessed how easily physical violence could end a life, even one that was seemingly indestructible like his father. At thirteen, he learned that words could be a lie and touch, a weapon. He shied away from truly intimate touch since then. But now, so many years and so much pain later, here he was, on a busy, crowded, bumpy train, in a strangely private, safe, secure moment, with a man he truly trusted. He marveled at the sensation, at the peace he found in Spencer's eyes, and he felt more whole than he had in a long time.

Spencer slid his hand to cover Derek's and together, the hands slipped beneath the shirt and became hidden from view. Together, they slid up and Derek could feel the contours of Spencer's belly button, just as Spencer could feel the roughened fingertip trace the round indentation in his stomach. Derek marveled at the silkiness of Spencer's skin, the warmth and aliveness of it, of Spencer. Spencer could feel the strength of Derek's hand, the muscle and bone and sinew tempered and hardened by years of construction work and training. The hands slid slowly to the side and the narrowness of Spencer's waist was evident. Derek wondered idly if his hands could span the young man's waist entirely. Then the hands trailed to rest just above the waistband and Derek could feel the barest beginning of the lean hipbone. Entranced, he rubbed his thumb lightly against it and watched as Spencer's eyes grew heavy, pupils dilating somewhat. Inhaling deeply, shakily, Spencer gave Derek a small, soft smile, which was returned.

Reality intruded then as their stop was announced to be next. The hands slipped from their secret world and worked together to tuck the correctly buttoned shirt back into Reid's pants. As Morgan's hand slipped back to his side, Reid let his fingers brush softly against Morgan's inner wrist. The two men shared a conversation within a look and they both knew something had changed, something monumental. They welcomed it, were thrilled by it, even though at the same time, there was some anxiety over it. But Morgan was Morgan and Reid was Reid, and together they would become so much more.

"Let's go," Morgan said quietly, his brilliantly white smile dazzling in the sun as the door slid open.

Reid joined him and the two men stepped off the train, side by side.


End file.
